The Not So Bad Boy and Ms Uptight
by dauntlesslydemigod
Summary: "I used to think I was used to people leaving me." He laughed bitterly, making Clary's heart pang painfully. "But yesterday, when I – when I couldn't find you, I realized I was wrong." He looked up, his eyes blazing as he laced his fingers with hers. "There's no way, absolutely no way in hell I'm letting go of you this time, Clary. You're mine, and will stay so. No matter what."
1. Prologue

She remembered that it was dark. And cold. She didn't have a blanket, like the one she had at her home.  
She had worn the same dress for many days, she knew. It used to be pretty, with small flowers and candies and some shaped she couldn't name. Later, it turned red. Dark red. She liked it better when it was dry. And white.

She also remembered him, Her Boy. She wasn't sure if he was real. Was he? She didn't know. He had saved her. He also gave her some chocolate one day. Used to call her princess. She like him. Yes, she liked him a lot.

When she ran away, they found her on the road. Said that she had fainted from exhaustion. Looked at her with pity. Looked at her cuts with funny, sad faces and asked softly, _did they hurt?  
_ She would look at them blankly. They thought she was scared. She wasn't. She just couldn't understand what they meant.

It didn't hurt when the blood flowed out. It did, at first, but not later.  
But it hurt when she thought about home.  
Why did they leave her that day, in the dark?

When she went back home, she told them she hated the dark.  
They kissed her and hugged her, eyes moist. Told her that she'll never have to be in the dark again. So she smiled. The darkness was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

"Jeez, Clary." Jonathon looked curiously at his sister, busy with her fork and knife. "Why? I mean, they all _do_ get mixed in your stomach, don't they?"

Clary pushed away the crimson strands from her forehead as she flashed a smile at her brother. The carrots and peas were now neatly piled on either side of her plate and she gave a small exclamation of satisfaction. "You won't get it even if I tell you a billion times, Jon." Jonathon just ruffled her short hair affectionately and went back to his pancakes.

"And when will you start eating real food for a change? You've become so thin, I sometimes worry you'll disappear altogether one day. You already work so hard on your music and art; then you don't even step out from the house unless it's absolutely necessary. I mean, it can't be good for you ..."

Clary simply went on to pour a glass of orange juice for herself and some hot chocolate for her brother. She was used to Jon's absolutely adorable rants every other day and deep inside, they made her feel secure. Loved.

What Jon would never get was that things are never simple; they need to be made so. Carrots are orange, peas are green. They need to be sorted out, simplified. Things that are not in order can surprise her, and she didn't like surprises. But Jon wasn't her.

As she looked at her elder brother digging into his breakfast like a starved refugee, for one second she couldn't believe that this guy, _this kid_ here will be the head of the leading petroleum industry of the country in a year. But then, she knew that appearances are deceptive. She knew it better than anyone else.

" _Clary?"_

Her hazel eyes snapped into her brother's dark ones as he waved his hands in front of her. " I was asking you ..." he deliberately stopped, his gaze shifting to her hands in her lap. He sighed when he saw that she was wearing a sweater whose sleeves were too long for her pale hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when Clary's eyes flitted across the room nervously.

" I found us a new flatmate."  
The change in the topic was abrupt, but not new. They had done this hundreds of times and as much as Jonathon hated it, he couldn't bear to see the fear in his sister's large eyes.

Clary's eyes widened before she let out a soft laugh. " _Flat_ mate, Jon?"

Their _flat_ was actually a three storied bungalow; complete with its own swimming pool, a bowling alley, Jonathon's gaming arcade and Clary's music room. It had three master bedrooms with en suite bathrooms and walk in wardrobes.

Jon gave her a sheepish smile. "Oh well ... Can't say bungalow mate, can I?" Clary smiled before asking curiously, " But who is it? Someone from the company?" She knew that no ordinary teenager could afford to pay the rent of their – flat.

The thing was that a few months back, Jonathon decided that he was _bored_. So, he came up with a brilliant plan of renting out the third bedroom of their house to some friend of his, so that he could have a partner in crime for all his activities at all times. Clary was rather scared of the idea at first, but Jonathon promised her that if she didn't like the guy, he himself would show him the door to the exit.

And Clary trusted him. After all, he was the only one she had complete faith on.

Jon shook his head. "Nah. It's Jace. You know him, remember? His father is there in almost all the formal functions we go for. He's the richest man in the country after dad."

Clary nodded. "Jace Wayland? Yes. I think I remember him." She ran her finger across her lower lip, a sure sign she was thinking. "He's the one who brought you home that night when you were dead drunk, isn't he?" She said slowly, looking at her brother for confirmation.

Jonathon flushed a dark purple as he shook his head mutely. "I know he looks – scary, but ..."

"He's nice."

Jonathon's head shot up in disbelief as he stared at his sister. Clary had never said that about any of his friends, though she had met them loads of times.  
His eyes widened as he realized that this was the first time in eleven years she had used this adjective for someone other than their family.

"Really?" That was all he could say. He knew that if he pressed her too hard, she would crack. She was like glass: looked amazingly strong but was surprisingly fragile.

Unaware of her brother's close scrutiny, she nodded in approval. "Yeah."

When Jonathon realized he wouldn't get anything more out of her at the moment, he sighed. "Would you pass me the bacon, please?" As she gave him the plate, he caught a glimpse of her exposed palms.

He flinched when he saw the angry red nail marks that covered the skin on their heels, which were usually hidden by her too long sleeves. Her eyes caught his gaze and she quickly pulled her sleeves down. "So!" She forced a laugh, and Jonathon looked away. "When will Jace shift over?"

Jonathon scooped the last of the cornflakes into his spoon. "He had an issue with his landlady; he seemed to have stolen all the Nutella jars out of her fridge. He'll bring his things tomorrow." As Jonathon cleared his fifth plate, Clary shook her head at her brother. "You need to control your diet, Jon. You eat as if you're going to die the next second." Clary always wondered how he always stayed so fit despite eating enough to feed an army.

Jonathon just grinned. "What if I do?"

.

.

.

.

.

Jonathon leaned against the locker next to Clary's as she pulled out her books. "This is your last year at college, Jen. You could make some friends, you know. Hang out, go shopping, bunk a class …?" He looked at her hopefully.

Clary turned to him. "I do go out for groceries every week, Jon. I also go to the clothes store twice a year for my wardrobe." Jonathon supressed a groan. "Make some friends then? Come on, Clary. You're _twenty-one_ , for Christ's sake." Clary sighed before she bit her lower lip. "People don't like me. With my issues, they think –"

" _You have no issues_."

Jonathon's tone was so sharp that Clary jumped slightly. Her hands automatically balled into fists, her fingernails touching her skin. Jonathon's eyes widened and he took her small hands and opened them gently.

"Didn't mean to shock you." He said apologetically, "But Clary Fray, _you_ , are the most beautiful and amazing girl I've ever seen. You're so strong, Clary. After everything, you came out shining and ready to take on the world." Slowly, he held out his hands and placed them on her shoulders. "Just because you're different doesn't mean you're wrong, remember?"

Clary smiled suddenly, flashing her dimples. "It just means that you belong somewhere else." She finished.  
Standing on her tip toes, she placed a butterfly kiss on her brother's cheek. "I promise I'll try to be more outgoing this year." She crossed her arms. "But Jon, you have to control your urge of eating. The amount of fat you eat will bring you an early death, I tell you. I'll make some carro –"  
Jon rolled his eyes and smiled. "Before you make me a cow like you, I'm running off to class. Bye!"

Clary sighed, waving a goodbye to her brother. She turned to pick up her bag, but bumped into someone who was standing close to the locker next to her.

"Ouch." She rubbed her forehead which felt like having ran into a wall. "That hurt." She immediately cursed herself for her stupid habit of speaking what she thought.

She heard a dark chuckle and looked up to find Jace Wayland looking down at her.

"I kind of guessed that. Sorry, Fray."

The scar that ran down his left cheekbone shone clearer than ever, accentuating the pure gold of his eyes. His tall frame towered over her and his blonde hair flopped over his forehead untidily. "I was thinking about something, so didn't see you there." He explained, slinging his bag over his back.

Clary nodded, closing her locker. "It's okay. I wasn't looking when I turned, so fifty percent of the fault was mine."

Jace looked at her curiously before smiling a little. "Okay, then. I take back half of my apology." He plucked out the imaginary words from the air, broke them in two parts and mimed eating one. "There."

Clary narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher if he was making fun of her. "Are you making fun of me?" She blurted out.  
Jace's golden eyes pierced her emerald ones. "And why do you think I am?" His full attention was now towards her. Clary shifted uncomfortably, biting her lower lip. "I do – don't know. You might." She fiddled with the ring on her third finger. "But I don't like it when people make fun of me." She looked up at him. "So, are you?"

Jace cocked his head to one side slightly, looking her with the same curiosity as before. "When people told me you were different, this is not what I imagined." His eyes bore into hers.  
"No, Clarissa. I'm not making fun of you. You don't seem the kind to be made fun of."

Before her brain could process the meaning of his words completely, Jace was already leaving.

 _Clarissa._

He had called her by her full name. As she didn't talk to anyone except Jonathon and her parents, she had almost forgotten what her name sounded like. From his mouth, it sounded so – different. Almost … beautiful.

Clary shook her head violently, almost banging her head into her locker. People were looking at her curiously, so she ran towards her classroom.

 _They think of me as a freak. I am not a freak. I AM NOT A FREAK_.

"I'm not a freak." She said out aloud finally, feeling a little better. "They may think I am, but it isn't the truth." She muttered as she ran. When she finally reached her lecture hall, she was panting and completely out of breath. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes.

"Hey."

Her eyes shot open when she saw a girl standing in front of her, looking at Clary uncertainly. She was like a living Asian Barbie with her shining black and dark eyes. "Are you alright?" She asked Clary slowly, keeping a safe distance.

Clary blinked. Barbie stared.  
Clary stared. Barbie blinked.

" _Isabelle?"_

Both the girls jumped and a guy who looked like the male counterpart of Barbie, but with blue eyes, appeared. "We're getting late for cla …"  
He stopped when he saw Clary. His blue eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Oh." He finished lamely.

Clary stared at the twins, her heart beating fast. "I should be going for my class." She finally said, her voice smaller than usual. She turned, but Barbie caught her wrist lightly. "I'll see you later then?" Her eyes were kind, which is why Clary felt herself nodding. "Okay then. Bye!" With that Clary left the Barbie twins, feeling their gaze on the back of her neck.

Once she took a seat at the back of the hall, she took slow deep breaths to calm herself. "She's just a girl. She likes you." Clary told herself.

 _But she's so pretty_. _Why would she want to befriend a freak?_

"I'm not a freak." She muttered. Closing her eyes, she held her head with her hands. "I. AM. NOT." She spoke through gritted teeth.

"You're not. Now can you stop talking to yourself? It's kind of creepy."

Jace's amused voice made her groan softly before she raised her head to see him sitting on the seat next to her. "You're in my class?" He asked her, the amused smile still playing on his lips.

"This is not your class. This is the class for music major students." Clary sniffed.

Jace gave her a blank look. "Okay. Let me ask you again. Are you, Clary Fray, taking a music major course this year?" She gave him an unexpected smile. "Yes, I am."

She was about to turn away when her eyes widened as she remembered something. "Did you steal Nutella from your landlady?"

Jace gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was hungry, and there was no dinner." His eyes suddenly flashed with an emotion she could not place, but the smile was back in a moment. "I promise I won't steal from your kitchen, though." He said, his eyes twinkling slightly.

Clary tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'll make sure you don't stay hungry; having Nutella for dinner is not good for your health." She bent down to pick a pencil, so she didn't see the expression of absolute shock on Jace's face.

He turned in his seat to face her, his eyes curious. "There's something about you." He murmured, turning his head to one side. "Something different."

Clary bit her lower lip hard, tasting blood. "You're mistaken. I'm perfectly normal." She said with a tone of finality. Jace just had a playful smile on his lips, looking away when their professor entered.

As the class began, Jace leaned closer to Clary, whispering in her ear. "Are you? How boring."


	3. Chapter 2

" **Ja – ce!**

 **Ja – ce!**

 **Ja – ce!"**

The crowd chanted as Jace landed a smooth uppercut on his opponent's jaw. Snarler, a tall, bulky guy of about twenty-three was one of the most reputed fighters in the arena. Which is why Jace had decided to play with him for some time.

Snarler groaned, covering his face. Jace stepped away, waiting for him to strike again. Snarler tried to jab him in the stomach, but Jace was like lightening. He was the audience's most demanded boxer: His fighting was so graceful, almost like he was flying.  
Nimble on his feet, quick with his hands, he was beautiful.

Snarler gritted his teeth, straightening a little. He smirked, showing his blood stained mouth. "Runs in the blood, doesn't it, Herondale? Playing with your prey." He spat loudly. "You're just a fucked up copy of your father, aren't you?"

Jace's jaw suddenly hardened, his hands curling into fists. The Arena's noise seemed to vanish, and unwanted memories started flooding in front of his eyes.

"What did you say?"

His tone was surprisingly devoid of anger, like the calm before a storm.

Snarler leered wider, knowing he had finally hit a nerve. "I'm talking about your real father, kid. Or wait – has living in a palace made you forget what you actually are?"  
His confidence increasing every second, Snarler went on. "I'll remind you then, you little fucker. You're just a murderer's son, nothing else. Dressing up like a prince won't make you one, will it?"

He didn't see Jace's body tense, his golden eyes blazing. "In fact, what was the name of that whore, your mother? Celine, was it? Hot piece of -"

Snarler never could complete his sentence as a resounding crack went through the arena. Jace's fist connected with his nose as Snarler wailed with agony, blood quickly pouring out. He doubled over, but this time Jace didn't give him any chance to recover. A hard, well placed punch in his chest, and another sickening crack followed by another wail by Snarler. Finally, his elbow smacked Snarler right on the nape of his neck, making him bellow with pain before he fell to the floor.

The crowd went crazy; it was after a long time that Jace had actually shown some emotion in a fight. But Jace's ears refused to register the sound.  
All he heard was his own harsh breathing, and all he saw was the crumpled mass of flesh that lay in front of him.

Reaching over, he picked up the unconscious Snarler by his collar. Slapping him hard across his face, Jace shook his bulky body.

Snarler's eyes fluttered open and he shrank back with a cry. Jace's eyes were smoldering with a fire that turned his irises black, his sharp features immobile with fury.

"Try to say her name ever her name again … And I'll shut you up forever."  
His words, low and tense, dripped with uncontrolled rage. He tightened his hold on Snarler's collar, making him whimper. "And I am not Stephen's son. You had better keep that in your skull, or next time, _I swear to God_ , you won't have one."

Dropping him unceremoniously on the floor, Jace walked off the stage, the deafening cheers almost making him wince. But his face showed no emotion at all. Like always.

His manager came stumbling towards him, his face spread with a wide grin. "Nice one, Mr. Herondale. Earned a lot on you this time, I did. After my share, there are still about three thousand pounds left."

He placed a thick stack of notes in Jace's outstretched hand. Jace's lips curled into a slightly bitter smile as he saw his hands shake slightly.

"You brought any?" He asked, and the manager nodded. "Three of them, waiting outside." He answered promptly. Jace nodded and left the hall.

The cool air hit his shirtless torso and he closed his eyes for a second, letting the anger that burned inside him die out slowly. He reached the huge banyan tree where he had told Magnus to bring the kids to.

His gaze softened slightly as he saw three boys hardly thirteen years of age, standing near the trunk. The tallest one of them was looking around warily, his eyes alert. He reminded Jace of a younger version of himself, him coming to the arena when the food in his house ran out.

The three kids saw him and their eyes widened. Slowly, unsurely, they shuffled towards him. Jace thought about smiling at them, but gave up on the idea.  
 _A stranger's smile means danger_ ; it was the only rule of the arena.

"Mr. Magnus said you wanted to see us." The tall boy finally said. With a shock, Jace realized the three of them were brothers, the youngest one barely eight. He had a split lip and black eye, not daring to look at Jace.

Jace felt his heart twist into a small stone, his breathing too loud for him to bear. They were children. The oldest one hadn't even broken his voice yet.

"What are your names?" He finally said, his voice sounding alien to his own ears. The tallest guy replied again, the other two not being able to look up.

"I'm Raphael, and these are my brothers Nico and Steph." Jace looked at them carefully and saw the exotic brown of their hair, the exquisite black of their eyes. His sharp gaze also noticed how Raphael stood slightly in front of the other two, in a protective way.

Jace finally felt his resolution break as he bent down on his knees, beckoning the youngest one, Steph, to come forward. The kid looked at his elder brother, who nodded his head slightly after a few seconds.

Trembling slightly, he came close to Jace. "Ye – Yes, Sir?" His tiny voice shook, and Jace pulled out the stack of money from his back pocket. He heard the three children gasp slightly before he gently held Steph's small, still soft hand and placed the notes in it. "Here."

Steph looked at the money with wide eyes, his gaze resting on Jace, the money and then his brother. Raphael looked frozen, his face blank. "It's three thousand pounds. Should get you going for some time." Jace said.

Steph's mouth opened and closed like a fish, not daring to believe what had just happened.

 _Three thousand pounds_.

Even if Raphael won ten fights in a month, they would never be able to accumulate that much of money. And he could only fight five times a month; the rest of the time was spent in the hospital.

He looked at Raphael incredulously, who wore a poker face. He watched as his brother took slow, deliberate steps, before standing in front of Jace.

"What do you want?"

Jace's head snapped at the naked hostility in Raphael's young voice. "We won't get our hands dirty for a few dollars, Sir." His eyes were narrowed into slits, and fury shone through them. "Please let go of my brother."

At first, Jace was confused. Surprised. Shocked, even. No kid had ever reacted like that to him. Yes, he had occasionally sensed fear and foreboding when he handed out the money, but he had assumed that was because they were scared that he was joking.

It was a while before it came to him.

 _They think I'm hiring them for murdering someone_.

The realization tore apart the mask that held his heart at a safe distance from this misery, this pain, this darkness.

After all these years, he suddenly had the urge to cry. To scream in fury, to shout about how all this is so unfair. To find people like his father and kill them. To burn this dreadful place that took so many souls and crushed them.

But none of these emotions came on his face.

Standing up, Jace let go of Steph. He watched as Raphael's face relaxed ever so slightly. "I'm not hiring you for anything, Raphael." His voice was the same. Hard, cold, impersonal. "I just want you and your brothers to keep this money. I don't need it."

Raphael's eyes widened as he realized what Jace was proposing. He searched his face frantically for cruelty or humor, but found none. "Just like that?" He asked, his voice no longer as strong as he wanted it to be.

Jace nodded. "Keep it. I have no use for it." He said again.

Raphael knew he didn't need the money. Jace Wayland was the son of one of the biggest industrialist in the country, after all. He still was puzzling over the fact as to why Jace was still a regular boxer at The Arena. He didn't need to fight for money anymore.

"Why?" Nico finally gathered the courage to ask Jace. "Why are you doing this?"

Three pair of eyes bore into Jace's. He smiled, but there was no humor in his eyes.

"A man once did something and became a God for me. I'm just trying to be an angel, at least."

.

.

.

.

 **Short, I know. But I wanted to introduce him.**


	4. Chapter 3

As Jace drove back to his new house, he strained his memory again for the name that had been nagging him for quite some time now.

 _Clarissa Fray._

He had always known her as Clary, Jonathon's sister, who was a shadow at their college. He had known Jonathon for the past three years, and the only conversation he'd had with her was when he had taken a very drunken Jonathon back to his house. She was awake at three in the morning, probably waiting for her brother, and had been very polite but curt with her replies.

But it was a few days back that he read her full name in one of the class lists that sent his brain whirring. Clarissa Fray. It sounded oddly familiar, yet he couldn't put his finger on where he had heard it earlier.

Sighing loudly, he kept the thought aside for the moment as his stomach growled with hunger. Fighting created quite an appetite, as he had learnt with time. Glancing at the clock in his car, he groaned. It was two in the morning, and there was no way he'd get food at any place now.

 _Well, there's always Nutella._ He shrugged.

As he pulled up in the drive of the bungalow, he realized he had lost his shirt sometime during the fight. He frowned as the tattoo on his chest shone in the darkness, and reminded himself for the hundredth time to keep extra T-shirts in the car.

When he opened the main door softly from his key, he was met with darkness and an eerie silence. After getting a shirt from his room, he made way to the kitchen, hoping to find some leftovers from the dinner.

The kitchen, just like the rest of the house, was spotless. Everything was labelled neatly in a handwriting he knew wasn't Jonathon's, as the boy wrote a script resembling ancient Greek. Pulling open the fridge, Jace was pleasantly surprised to see that it was stocked with all sorts of goodies, and more importantly, vegetables. After a brief metal debate, he settled on making himself some stew.

Cooking was one of the very few activities that calmed him down every time he felt his mind to be in a turmoil. Maybe because it had many memories connected to it, but he loved making his own food. It made him feel … almost ordinary. As if he was just a normal, simple guy.

Not an underground street fighter.  
Not the adopted heir of a multi-millionaire.  
Not the biological son of a monster.

His sharp ears suddenly heard a rustle in the nearby room, and his senses immediately went on high alert. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he crept out of the kitchen, the stew forgotten.

He relaxed slightly as he saw a small, petite silhouette against the wall, frantically digging through something in the drawer of the living room. Frowning, he switched on the light, making Clary yelp slightly as she turned to him. He felt his frown deepen when he took in her appearance.

Her short, dark crimson hair were disheveled, her normally serene jade eyes now wide with fear. Her small frame was shaking violently as she stammered something incoherent. "Me – medi …" Her breathing was loud and harsh, as if she was running out of air to breathe.

In two long strides, Jace was by her side. Something in his mind was clicking into place, but there was no time to think about it now. Gently holding her by her shoulders, he guided her to the nearby sofa.

"Clary? I need you to close your eyes now, and _breathe_. Everything's all right, you're safe, and there's absolutely nothing to worry about." He ordered in a low, firm voice. "Can you hear me? You're okay. Everything is okay." As he spoke, he hunted through the drawer that contained about a hundred tiny foil packets of different tablets. He automatically went for the familiar yellow tablet pack that he had seen so many times.

Ripping it open, he popped out two of the Ativan tablets. "There. See? You're doing great. Just breathe." He called out as he sprinted to the kitchen and brought a glass of water.

Clary's eyes were screwed shut, her hands tightly clutched into fists. Her breathing was ragged as she bit at her lower lip hard, again and again till blood slowly started to pool at her mouth. Jace opened her hands, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw the angry scratches her nails had clawed onto her skin.

Pushing the tablets into them, he watched as she quickly popped them into her mouth, gulping down the water he handed to her. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, her head falling back onto the sofa with exhaustion.

Rushing out of the dining room, Jace knocked sharply at Jonathon's door. "Jon? Get up. Clary's had a panic attack." He shouted over the door, and almost immediately, Jonathon's face appeared, sleepy but alert.

"Holy shit." He cursed, almost running to the drawing room. "I gave her the medicine, she's all right now." Jonathon looked at Jace curiously for a second before he saw Clary, curled into a small ball on the sofa.

"Clary?" In a flash, he was by his sister's side, holding her close. Clary burrowed her face in his chest as he picked her up gently, making way to her bedroom. "It's okay. I'm here." He whispered softly as he lowered her down into her bed. The lines on her forehead had disappeared, and her even breathing meant she was asleep again.

Tucking the blanket securely around her shoulders, he switched off the lights, stepping out to see Jace leaning against the wall. Running a hand through his hair, he nodded at his friend. "She's asleep now, and probably won't even remember it tomorrow morning. Thank god you were there, Jace." He exhaled loudly, his face dark with worry.

Jace attempted a small smile, and Jonathon shook his head. "I thought she was better now. She hadn't had an attack for the last three months …" He wavered off before turning to Jace.

"How did you know which medicine to give her?"

Jace's throat suddenly went dry as flashes of a certain large eyed girl ran across his eyes. He remembered her laughs, her smile, her hair. The way she held his hand, the way she shone in his tiny world. She was the one who taught him how to live, how to see the world as she saw it.

But he also remembered the fear, the pain in her eyes when she had an attack, the way she trembled in his arms when they didn't have money for the medicines.

Distantly, he heard himself answer mechanically. "I had a friend who used to have panic attacks. I would help him out sometimes, so I know which medicines are used."

Jonathon nodded, satisfied with the answer. He knew better than to ask Jace what he had been doing in the middle of the night.  
He knew him well enough to guess that he liked keeping to himself, and after living with Clary, he knew better than to probe into someone's personal matters.

A loud yawn pulled Jace out of his thoughts. Jonathon clapped him hard on the back, smiling slightly. "It's late, matey. Let's hit our beds, shall we?" Jace nodded, getting the hint.  
Jonathon didn't want to talk about the attack, nor did Jace want to know.

A burning smell hit his nostrils as he groaned, running to the kitchen and turning off the flame. The stew was now just a burnt mess, and Jace decided to stick to Nutella for the night. Locking himself in his room, he went to the bathroom, splashing his face with water before looking at his reflection.

His gold eyes were slightly red due to lack of sleep, and his skin was pulled taut over his jaw. He looked – tired. Lost.

Alone here, he was no longer the Jace Herondale that people went crazy over at The Arena, the Jace Herondale who was fire and power.

Alone here, he was just a spark that had lost its will to turn into a flame.


	5. Chapter 4

_He tiptoed down the stairs, his gold eyes wild and heart beating loud. He strained his ears to catch the slightest noise of any footsteps as the dark depths of their house's basement came into view. If he got caught now, there was no way either of them would survive.  
Clutching at the key in with his sweaty hands, he reached the farthest corner of the hall. There was absolute silence in the locked cell, and for a minute he felt a cold hand glove his heart. Was he too late? _

_Softly inserting the key inside, he swung the door open, almost breathing a loud sigh of relief._

 _She was sitting on the small bench stuck to the wall, her features set like stone on her bloodstained face. He noticed the upright carriage of her body, the pride that shone in her eyes despite her tattered clothes and the numerous wounds on her tiny body, and like always, she reminded him of a princess. Her eyes bore at him, making him squirm slightly as he went closer to her._

" _Come on, princess. You have to get out." He whispered, unlocking the cuffs around her wrists, wincing slightly as he saw the bright red welts on her pale skin. Without meaning to, he rubbed at them gently. "Go!" He said again when she didn't move, and saw a flicker of doubt pass across her face._

" _He will kill you." She said quietly, not budging from her seat. "You know that." She looked up at him, her eyes a contrast to her face. While her face always was cold and expressionless, her eyes were a different story. They were warm, like honey, and seemed to hold millions of unspoken words within their depths._

 _He smiled slightly, instantly grimacing at the pain that shot up his face. The wound there was still fresh. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to reside. He should've stayed quiet last night. "I'll be okay."_

 _A soft touch made him start, his eyes opening wide. Her curious fingers were lightly tracing the cut on his face, a haunted look making way to her eyes. For the first time in three months, she looked scared. "No, you won't." Her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers curling into themselves close to his face. "You won't."_

 _The distant sound of glass shattering made them both jump, and he tightly held her hand. "Don't worry about me, okay? I'll do something. But I need you to run now, and under no circumstances do look back." She still looked unsure, but he had made up his mind. Hauling her to her feet, he led her to the small door to the outhouse. Pushing it open, he turned to her. "Run." She looked at him long and hard, and slowly, her lips broke into a smile.  
He looked at her, stunned. He had never seen her smile, nor he had seen anything so beautiful in the ten years of his life._

" _I'll see you again." She turned and ran, not looking back._

 _He kept looking at her till her outline disappeared within the trees. Suddenly, the room dissolved into darkness and a pair of metallic blue eyes shone through it._

 _Jace jumped, but the eyes were on him, dull and sharp at the same time. "You left me, Jace. Saved her, but not me." The voice seemed to tear him apart. "No." he whispered, trying to reach out for her. "It's not true, Max!" He screwed his eyes shut and screamed._

Jace shot up in his bed, gasping for breath. Cold sweat broke over his forehead, his hair sticking to the clammy skin. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, waiting for his heartbeat to calm down.

 _You couldn't have saved her_. A small voice said inside his head. _She was gone long before she died._ He took a long, shuddering breath.  
Slowly, the blue eyes dissolved into darkness, and another image came up. The same image that came every morning.

It was her when she looked at him one last time before she ran away.

 _Princess_.

He still remembered her, crystal clear in his memory. He didn't know what her eye color was, because he only met her down there in the darkness on his basement. But her eyes were the most expressive he'd ever seen. They had seemed to drink the last sight of him before she left his world forever, never to return again.

 _Max would've like her a lot …_ was the last thought that ran through his head before he slipped back into oblivion.

.

.

.

.

"Clary?" Jonathon softly knocked at his sister's room before opening the door. "Can I come in?" His head poked through the door.

Clary was on her bed, reading a book. "Morning, Jon." She smiled at her brother. Jon grinned back, but he automatically noticed that her eyes looked dull, dark bags below them. Her lips were chapped as always because of continuous biting, and he felt a pang of concern for her.

"Why are you up so early?" Clary asked him as she scooted over the bed to make some space for him. It was around seven in the morning, and Jon didn't get up till ten, at least.

Immediately, small warning bells started ringing inside her head. Did he know?

He sat next to Clary, tucking a random strand of hair behind her ear. "Clary …" his dark brown eyes were tender. "Is everything okay?"

Clary felt her cheeks heat up, but she didn't let her eyes widen. _Don't let him know, don't let him know, don't let him know._ She didn't bite her lower lip, nor did she tug at her hair.

When she was fifteen, she always wondered how Jon seemed to know when she was lying. After puzzling over it for weeks, the answer struck her one day when their mom asked him if he was the one who ate all the cheese crackers from the shelf. Jon had bit at the inner skin of his cheek before saying – of course not.

 _That_ was his tell. As Clary thought over it, he did it every time he lied to anyone: Be it to their mom for stealing cookies, or to her for beating up the guy who pulled at her hair. After that, it was easy. She finally came up with three tells she had: Tugging at her hair, biting her lip, and opening her eyes wide.

To avoid them, she got her hair snipped off till her ears, so she wouldn't pull at it. She still bit her lip from time to time, but over all, she now knew how to lie.

"Of course it is." She smiled, her hands tightly fisted under the blanket. "Why? Did something happen?" Jon looked at her carefully, trying to read her face. Finding nothing, he sighed. "No. I just -"  
he ran a hand through his hair, a tell that he was stressed. "You know that you can talk to me about anything, don't you?" He ruffled her hair. "I'm here for you. Always."

Clary felt like a criminal for lying to him, but this time, she had no choice. Pushing the blankets away from above her, she tightly wrapped her arms around him. "I know. I love you." Her voice was muffled by his shoulders. He laughed softly, rubbing her back. "Love you too."

Jon held her tiny body close to him, his heart melting for his sister. Despite being twenty-one, Clary was still the ten-year-old little girl who feared that she'll be left alone, _again_ , in the dark. But he had no intention to leave her, ever again.

When she pulled back, he got up and yawned. "Well, I'll be going back to bed then. See you in a few hours!" As he went away, Clary suddenly felt miserable; like she was the worst sister ever.

"Hey Jon?" Jonathon turned back. "I don't think I'll be coming to college today." Clary said slowly, watching her brother's eyes widen. "I just have to work on an assignment." She quickly finished. Jonathon paused for a second before he replied. "Oh. Well, have lunch on time, okay?" Clary nodded as he left the room.

…

Jace had woken up with a harsh dryness in his throat and his skin hot, a sure indication that he has a cold. Groaning, he had told Jonathon that he won't be going to college today. He hated skipping college, because it always left him alone with his thoughts, but he was sure there was no way he was getting out of bed today.

A soft knock made him peep out of his blankets. "Who's it?" He called out, his voice hoarse. Instead of replying, the door opened slightly and Clary's head peeped in.  
"Hey." She said softly as she opened the door wider, revealing a tray with a bowl of something steaming.  
Jace sat up straighter, coughing slightly before replying. "Oh! Hey, come in." He watched her carefully as she pulled a chair close to the bed and set the tray down.

"It's the pepper soup I make for Jon when he falls ill." She sat down next to him, and Jace inhaled the wonderful aroma for the soup as it hit his nostrils. He smiled at her gratefully. "You didn't need to do that, really." He felt the flavors explode on his tongue, leaving a warm, comfortable feeling in his throat as he took a sip. "But thank you so much."

"It's nothing." She sounded distracted, as if she was far away from here. He suddenly realized that she seemed to be nervous about something. Her hands were tapping at her knees, and she was biting her lower lip again. Frowning, he pushed away the blankets, putting the soup aside.

"Clary, are you all right?" She started, looking at him as if she didn't know who he was. She suddenly reminded him of a much younger version of himself.

"Yeah, Yes." She replied, pushing her hair back. She seemed to be making her mind about something, and after sometime, he saw a steely resolution shine in her eyes. "I actually – need your help with something." She said haltingly, wringing her hands.

Jace raised an eyebrow, surprised. "With what, music?" But even as he said it, he knew it was something else. Something much more serious.

She shook her head. "No. I'll just be back." She got up and left the room, returning some time later with a stack of plain white envelopes. "I've been getting these since the past few days." Her voice was level, but Jace saw the slight tremble of her hands as she handed him the letters.

Jace opened one, his eyes widening and blood rushing in his ears as a wave of anger hit him.

It was a picture of Clary fast asleep in her room, wearing a nightdress that had ridden up to expose her legs up to her knees. Below it was a short message written in crisp, bold handwriting.

 **IT'S JUST THE LEGS NOW. CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THE REST.**


End file.
